


p.s. don’t put real candles in the tree (again)

by ghostheart



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostheart/pseuds/ghostheart
Summary: It's the holidays and things are going just fine.





	1. faithful friends who are dear to us (kiiruma)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my new little pet project, haha. A series of holiday AU drabbles! I've got about nine of these planned, but I'm _very_ open to requests! I'd especially love DR1/SDR2 characters/ships or crossover ships since these are all taking place in a Hope's Peak Academy AU. For the moment, they're all NDRV3 themed.
> 
> The prompt will be at the end of each chapter if you want an idea of the subject matter before going in, or you can go in blind!
> 
> (Yes it's only November 7th. Fight me??)

“Quit givin’ me that damn look, would ya? It’s nothing a little TLC won’t fix.”

She’s quite the sight: dressed in a flimsy baby blue hospital gown and nothing else, flaxen hair straight and lifeless, weighed down by oils after days without washing. It feels inappropriate to see her like this, to bear witness to this intimate and vulnerable state — this feeling is akin to the one that ravages him when he’s violated one of the unspoken principles of human interaction.

But this is the obligation he has, no matter how much she refutes it, throws it back in his face. No; that only necessitates it even more.

He saw their classmates’ reaction to the news. Vague expressions of begrudging pity, plastic and disingenuous.

But he knew, she knew, they all knew. That her presence would not be missed.

Still, the haughty, undefeated smirk on her face in the fluorescent light stirs in him an urge to chastise her.

“You waited too long to admit yourself, Iruma-san. The average length of stay for an individual with pneumonia is approximately nine days, but given your delayed response, it could take up to — ”

“Oh, shut up! You’re giving me a fucking migraine!”

He hardly flinches, but he flinches nonetheless, and the immediate obsequity that besets her features betrays her regret. Her eyes grow wide and she looks away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” he offers, waving his hand casually in an attempt to mollify her.

But her gaze has been averted; she peers pensively out of the window, where flecks of white dance through the air.

“Oh! Is it snowing outside?”

“How about you — uh, yeah.” The mauve circles underscoring her eyes accentuate their melancholy as she continues looking out of the window.

After poring over the permutations of the situation, he chooses to remain silent until she turns to survey him. Her expression is neutral and unsettles him in a way he didn’t think quite possible.

It appears that the reality of his visit and its myriad implications are crossing her mind. He tenses and reaches for her hand. Her nostrils flare, but she acquiesces.

“I’ll be back, Iruma-san.” He smiles with signature determination.

“Wh-Whatever, I’ll probably be out by the time you find the time, anyway.”

As he makes to exit, he considers the snowflakes drifting softly down from the firmament, and spends a moment longer taking in her expression, one of a gentle yen for something she has, perhaps, never had. An idea takes root.

※

Her sense of time has eroded away, bit by bit, as the days have dragged on in the ward.

When she opens her eyes, she doesn’t know how long she’s been sleeping. Ten minutes? Ten hours? Ten days? It all runs together, fragmented yet seamless like a dream.

Her retinas automatically detect a difference in the light — it’s not the same searing fluorescence she’s been subjected to for God knows how long. There’s a gentle, colorful edge that prompts her to sit up slightly to search for the source.

 _The fuck?_ is the first thought that dashes across her mind when she sees the small wreath adorning the window. She almost scrambles to sit fully upright before remembering the damn ass IV in her wrist; defeated, she falls back against her bed. Her eyes flicker to one of the rolling tables, where a small tree, festooned with multicolored lights and topped with a cheap glittery star, sits, surreptitiously plugged into the wall. This is not a wise use of hospital resources.

Who? The staff? Surely the fuck not. They don’t have time for such frivolous garbage. A charity group, perhaps. Her intuition tells her that isn’t the case, either. There’s a singular other possibility, one that she doesn’t want to consider.

“That inefficient motherfucker,” she mutters, balling the sheets up in her fist and blinking away the blurriness brimming in her eyes. The staff are just going to take it all down when they notice — surely, for all his prim and proper tendencies, he’d be the first to realize that.

Distracted by the lights on the tree, she had neglected the object next to it, which she now registers in her peripheral vision.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she grumbles as she snatches the compact rectangular box from its place beside the tree. A piece of paper was hastily taped to the top. Greeting her is her full name in pristine kanji.

Carefully, as though defusing a bomb, she extracts the tape from the note and opens it. She braces herself.

_Iruma-san,_

_Thirty-four days ago, you said your Swiss army knife had fallen into disrepair and discussed needing a new one. It took some time, but I believe I have found a replacement that will meet your high standards. I hope it’s to your liking. ~~:)~~ If it is not, I truly apologize!_

__~~Yo~~  
~~L~~  
~~Fe~~

_Your friend,  
K1-B0_

Thirty-four days ago. He remembered that. He doesn’t make a note of just anything. She bets he doesn’t remember what Saihara said thirty-four days ago.

The ink is bleeding in splotches across the page, and she panics and tosses it on the side table before plucking a tissue from the box on the opposite edge of the table from the tree. In the process of blowing her nose, she almost forgets the box itself. Hurling the tissue into the wastebasket by the heater, she wastes no time in flipping off the lid.

And there it is. An authentic fucking Victorinox XAVT in its red and chrome glory. This is as good as it gets. Her old one looks like a little bitch next to this guy. Where did that hunk of metal even find the money for this, anyway? Has he been prostituting himself to kinksters in Roppongi? Even if he did just have that cash lying around, there were surely better places to spend it.

Her mind swims with the implications and possibilities, the permutations and combinations.

She contemplates calling for the nurse to ask for a new box of tissues, but she looks at the wreath on the window and thinks better of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas”_


	2. and the fire is so delightful (saimota)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) you can probably tell i don’t write fluff much  
> 2) you will pry saimota from my cold dead hands  
> 3) fellas, is it gay if i bake desserts with my bro while we’re standing less than a foot apart from each other?  
> 4) there will be a part 2 in this cookie saga

He knew this would happen.

As soon as the unmistakable scent of smoke and poor decisions drifts into his room and assails his senses, his cynical prediction is validated.

As fall yielded to winter and the landscape morphed from rich, warm hues and bright foliage into blue and white barrenness, Shuuichi Saihara had predicted that at least one person would nearly burn the dormitory building down. The holidays and their myriad traditional confections somehow inspire people who don’t know baking soda from sugar to attempt to bake. The school placed entirely too much faith in its student body when they made the decision to seal off the old dorms in the main building and invest in a separate, standalone building.

He furtively steps out of his room and looks up and down the hallway. It’s empty, to his mild surprise — the smell must not have emanated very far, or else there would be more concerned students poking their heads out of their doors. Nevertheless, this makes his job easier as he presses himself up to each door, sniffing and feeling for any extraordinary heat.

The smell becomes overpowering when he reaches the second to last room in the hallway.

Momota’s room?

He steps back and presses a hand to his mouth in contemplation. He had, perhaps prematurely, assumed that Momota would sooner perish than step foot into a kitchen for actual cooking purposes.

Shuuichi knocks on the door. He waits a few seconds, which seem to stretch beyond the boundaries of time as he hears a slew of muffled curses and someone stumbling closer to the door.

A very beleaguered Momota swings it open, gelled strands of hair askew and eyes wide and wild. He opens his mouth to speak, but Shuuichi is not about to let that floodgate open.

He closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Momota-kun, I smelled something burning and it’s coming from your room. What are you doing?” he asks point-blank.

He ejects an extremely forced laugh out of his lungs.

“Oh, you know.”

“...No, I don’t.”

“Look, man, now’s not a good time, all right?”

Rivulets of sweat are now actively coursing down Momota’s face. His eyes are crazed, and for a brief existential moment, Shuuichi fears that he is going to lunge.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

A vein in Momota’s temples bulges and he leans in conspiratorially.

“Okay. I was baking shit and I didn’t realize that I don’t know how to bake shit until I was halfway through. And, uh, I may have forgot to set a timer.”

Wow. There is a lot to unpack in that explanation, and Shuuichi is not going to waste any cognitive resources on it at the moment. Instead, he puts on a visage of conciliatory benevolence.

“Why don’t I try to help? It’ll be easier with two people.”

Momota hesitates and scratches the back of his neck. The lingering odor of regret likely gives him pause.

“Fine. But this doesn’t leave this room, got it?”

Shuuichi isn’t sure what makes him think he would gossip to their classmates about a failed baking excursion — if anything, that would make _him_ look petty — but he nods nonetheless. Momota stands to the side, allowing Shuuichi to cross the threshold into his suite.

He assesses the situation: the oven in the cramped kitchenette is turned off, a baking sheet hastily tossed onto the countertop on the side. Small, black oblongs resembling hockey pucks are strewn across the stove and counter. Smoke saturates the air despite the open window; Shuuichi’s eyes water.

He starts by flicking the switch on the oven fan and the air conditioner to increase the rate of air circulation. He gathers the sad hockey pucks and deposits them into the garbage bin under the sink. After peering into the oven itself, it appears that it sustained little, if any, damage. Shuuichi breathes a sigh of relief — that would’ve been the second to worst case scenario aside from, well, starting a fire and razing everything to the ground.

“Okay. Let’s do this the right way,” he declares. He doesn’t know much about baking, but certainly enough to manage prepackaged dough.

“Ha! Just what I expected from my sidekick,” Momota responds cheerfully, joining him by the countertop. If Shuuichi is being honest with himself, he’s just glad that some of the tension seems to have disappeared from Momota’s demeanor.

Shuuichi scrubs the baking sheet down and sprays it with the spray can of non-stick butter. Peering at the package, he presets the oven to the required temperature before turning his attention back to the dough itself.

“All you have to do is ball them up and space them out on the sheet,” he explains, demonstrating. Momota watches with rapt attention.

“That’s what you have to do? Man, I took the last package out and put the whole thing on there without doing anything else. Guess I was wrong.”

If Momota failed to burn this building down today, there is simply no way that he won’t accomplish it some other time within the next two years.

Momota sidles up beside him and joins him in placing them on the sheet.

“What made you want to bake, anyway?” Shuuichi asks. “I never pegged you for the type who’d want to try it.”

Momota chuckles softly, without bravado, and something about it — perhaps its rarity — is endearing.

“To tell you the truth, it brings me back a little. My mom and grandma made all kinds of shit this time of year when I was just a kid. They watched a lot of Western cooking shows.” He’s comfortable in his ministrations now, and the smile fades, replaced by distant wistfulness. “I dunno. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to go back for the break, so I wanted to do somethin’ that reminded me of home. But you can see how great that turned out.”

They continue their work quietly. He’s always been passionate, but sentimentality never seemed to be a dimension of that for Momota.

Shuuichi’s cheeks suddenly feel very warm.

When they’re finished, Shuuichi slides the baking sheet into the oven (“Momota-kun, you should probably go stand by the wall over there just in case”) and sets a timer on his phone for fifteen minutes.

Just when Shuuichi is sufficiently convinced that Momota’s allowed himself to relax, someone knocks on the door and he tenses.

With an exasperated sigh, he opens the door. Toujou stands across the threshold, a laundry cart in tow.

“Momota-san, I happened to smell something burning while I was doing the second year students’ laundry. When I came up here, it appeared to be coming from your room. Is everything all right?”

“Fine! Never been better, as a matter a’ fact!”

Toujou scowls. “It’s really no trouble at all. I just want to ascertain that nothing has been damaged and provide help, if necessary.”

“Excellent! See you later!”

Momota slams the door in Toujou’s face and turns around. Shuuichi must look shocked, because he suddenly has the decency to look a little sheepish. He closes his eyes and plunks himself down on his bed unceremoniously.

The crisis has most certainly been averted, but Momota is still drenched in perspiration and staring forlornly at the floor with his hands on his knees. There is no way that this has anything to do with burnt cookies, and it doesn’t take any detective work to puzzle that out.

Shuuichi sits in the chair opposite the bed and sighs.

“Momota-kun,” Shuuichi says, leaning forward. “Something is obviously not right here. You haven’t been acting like yourself since I came in here. What’s going on?”

The smell of smoke has dispersed; vanilla and cinnamon waft into the air. Between the comforting scent, the warmth of the space heater, and the sight of a blanket of fresh snow outside, Shuuichi’s eyelids grow heavy and the bed looks irresistibly appealing. He shakes his head — now really is not the time, given the fact that Momota looks like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

He actively avoids his gaze.

“There’s some stuff that’s hard even for brave guys like me, you know?” He must realize that Shuuichi is waiting for elaboration because he reluctantly continues. “There are things I wanna take chances on, but I dunno if I’m ready and I’ve never felt like that.”

Speaking cryptically is not Momota’s strong suit, at least insofar as it pertains to uncertain emotions. Still, they’ve been friends for some time now and a nebulous idea gains a concrete form in Shuuichi’s mind. He thinks he has a clue of what this is about.

Momota continues before he can get a word in.

“Man. This smell really makes me feel like I’m home.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment before opening them and regarding Shuuichi intently, deliberately. His expression is inscrutable. “It makes sense though. I guess I _am_ home.”

He’s acting just as strangely as he has the entire time, but in a markedly different way. The room feels stifling and Shuuichi’s cheeks are warm; he leans over and turns the space heater off, but it does little to assuage anything.

There are two possible meanings behind what Momota said, and he hates that he wants one of them to be correct more than the other.

When the tension between them reaches its apex, the timer goes off. Shuuichi for all intents and purposes jumps to his feet and strides over to the oven, trying to pretend that everything is fine, it’s just fine, nothing wrong at all, and wow, he suddenly understands Momota’s behavior. He takes the sheet out of the oven and lets the fruit of their labors cool off. He has to concede that this is a marked improvement above the lumps of coal that were yielded from the first attempt.

In a flash, without prompting, Momota is behind Shuuichi and snatches one of the cookies and stuffs it into his mouth.

“Whoa! These are great! You’ve got a talent for this, Shuuichi!” he mumbles as crumbs pour from his mouth. Attractive.

“I just followed the instructions on the package, you know.” Nonetheless, he plucks one of them from the sheet and takes a small bite out of it. It really does hit the spot.

Still, he feels a sudden urge to escape.

“Well, I better get going. My group for the professional development class wants to meet in a little bit...”

“Ah, shit. I totally forgot about that. Ishimaru’s gonna kill me...”

Shuuichi laughs, if only at his atrocious luck at getting placed with _Ishimaru_ of all people.

Momota, with all the grace of a toddler, dumps the remaining cookies, still pleasantly warm and fragrant, into a plastic bag. He proffers the bag to Shuuichi. 

“Keep ‘em.”

“What?” His eyes widen in surprise. “I thought...”

Now it’s Momota’s turn to look surprised. “You thought what?”

Shuuichi shakes his head.

“Ah, never mind. It’s nothing. Thank you, Momota-kun.” A smile — a genuine smile — crosses his lips.

He worries his lip between his teeth and opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on saying something.

“Hey. Call me Kaito, will ya?”

He had been expecting that request at some point. However, the expected requested was appended to an impassioned speech about heroes and sidekicks and trust and belief. It wasn’t this quiet, this simple. Shuuichi actively feels what little color he has in his face drain before regaining it in spades.

“Um. Okay.”

Momota — Kaito? it sends an inexplicable shiver down his spine — flashes a familiar grin.

“I’m glad you came, Shuuichi.”

“I’m glad I came — Kaito.”

“You better not eat all of those in one sitting, or you’re gonna have to train twice as long tonight!”

That doesn’t have its intended deterrent effect on him.

On his way out, Shuuichi surveys the complete mess they made of the kitchen and acknowledges that there is no way that Kaito is going to be the one to clean that up.

“Oh, before I go...I think you owe someone an apology.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“hi we’re neighbors and omg are you alright i could smell something burning — whoaaa now that’s just embarrassing? step aside i’ll handle this”_


	3. all the way home i’ll be warm (toumeno)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can totally interpret this as platonic if you choose, but you can also join me in rarepair hell
> 
> also, i just want to say _thank you_ so much for the warm reception to this series so far! i’m in the middle of grad school hell right now and things have been extremely rough, but every time i see a new kudo or a comment from one of y’all in my inbox, my day instantly becomes much brighter. they really do mean so much to me and i’d be lying if i said that they didn’t bring tears to my eyes. i cherish each and every one of them. thanks again for your support y’all, i hope you enjoy the forthcoming installments!

“Mm...”

The convenience store is out of her imported hot chocolate. Resigned, she grabs a can of some no-name Japanese hot chocolate and adds it to the weighty pile of junk food cradled in her occupied arm.

Potato chips, instant noodles, chocolate, melon bread — she should be set. The thought of spending the weekend in her room, restoring her mana and refining her art, is enough to put a small smile on her face as she saunters into the next aisle.

Oh, right — this is the household goods aisle. Sighing in exasperation, she makes to move on before spotting a familiar headband. The school’s resident maid turns her head and her eyes flash with warm recognition.

“Hello, Yumeno-san,” Toujou greets with an urbane smile. “Did you just arrive? I did not see you on my way here.”

“I got here a few minutes ago, yeah. I needed some snacks to restore my MP for the weekend.”

Toujou gingerly places a bottle of window cleaner in her basket with her free hand and grips her black umbrella with the other. Right. She does that, doesn’t she? She uses an umbrella in the snow like a weirdo. Himiko would snicker — heaven forbid the maid show up with a snowflake in her hair! — but it really isn’t that funny, so she rolls her eyes and otherwise maintains her neutrality.

“It seems as though you’ve accomplished your task. Of course, I would be more than happy to get them for you next time,” Toujou says.

Himiko presses her lips into a thin line. There is no doubting Toujou’s professional prowess, but a part of her can’t help but think that she would have forgotten about Himiko’s special hot chocolate. That’s why she simply can’t rely on others for such a vital task — at the same time, she can’t exactly convey that message without risking offense to Toujou’s pride.

“I’ll think about it,” she concedes before hurrying past her towards the checkout counter.

Never lacking in grace, she dumps her spoils onto the counter and stares at the cashier, waiting. They begin scanning her items while she digs into her wallet for a thousand yen bill. The snow picks up speed in the periphery, and Himiko thinks about Toujou’s umbrella.

She pays the cashier and grabs the plastic bag of goodies before traipsing out the door and into the snow. The snowfall has intensified, swirling and undulating in spirals around her, stinging her eyes and chilling the tip of her nose.

Suddenly, Toujou seems like the smart one in this scenario. Bracing herself, Himiko shoves her free hand in the pocket of her red parka and shuffles along the sidewalk. The way back to Hope’s Peak is against the direction of the snow, which is proving to be more problematic than she anticipated.

“Yumeno-san!”

Himiko stops and turns around, wrapping her scarf tighter around her. Toujou is walking briskly toward her. The flaps of her refined black coat, lined with faux fur, flap in the wind of the snowstorm.

Toujou catches up to her, huffing slightly — her breath is visible in the thin winter air.

“It would be deplorable if I were to allow you to walk home in such weather without any sort of protection. Please, allow me.” She leverages her arm slightly so that the umbrella encompasses them both fully. Of course Toujou had the foresight to bring a messenger bag to put her purchases in and free up a hand, she thinks drearily. 

“Nyeh...fine. But it doesn’t matter to me either way,” Himiko mutters as they begin walking. Even in the middle of mumbling that, however, she notices that she’s far less cold and wet than she was before Toujou showed up.

They continue down the street in comfortable silence. She’s surprised by how much she appreciates this. Everyone at the school has a problem with never knowing when to keep their mouth shuts and appreciate the quiet. It gets to the point where the mere sound of their voices scrapes at her eardrums at the end of the day, and she’s forced to retreat into the serenity of her room.

Himiko’s lips are dry and chapped from the wind — why wasn’t she better prepared for this?

“I’ll have to practice my heat spells later tonight,” she states.

Toujou raises her eyebrows. “I was certain that a mage would have mastered at least one.”

There’s a tinge of humor in her voice, but it registers more curious than malicious.

“I’ve tried them before. If I practice them, I’ll be able to use them in times like this...”

“I’ve no doubt. If you continue to practice, I’m sure your abilities will continue to improve.”

The certainty in Toujou’s voice, the authentic faith that she has in Himiko, is enough to prompt her to pull the brim of her hat down further over her face to conceal her expression. Perhaps she’s grown so accustomed to the condescension, the coddling, the cold reception that hearing these things affects her so profoundly. It’s stupid. So stupid, she thinks, that she could die.

The hand holding her bag gradually loses feeling. She chews her lip and hums.

“Toujou, my hands are cold.”

“Would you like to return to the store to purchase gloves?”

“Nah. I need to preserve my energies for practicing my spells later.”

“I do not have a spare pair with me, but I would be able to lend you my gloves until we get back,” Toujou offers.

“Your hands would get too cold and you wouldn’t be able to hold the umbrella anymore. Here, let’s just do this.” Himiko switches the bag to her other hand and extends the affected one, waiting for Toujou to take the next step. Surely, she’s intelligent enough to piece out her cue.

Himiko fixes her gaze firmly on what’s in front of her. Even if she cared about Toujou’s expression, she doesn’t think she’d be able to look directly at her. The significance of the silence after her statement is lost on her, but finally, a response comes.

“Of course. I’ll fulfill this request,” Toujou declares, dutifully taking Himiko’s bare hand in her gloved one.

They walk quietly after that. Toujou’s hand is warm even through the leather glove, and the numbness that was beginning to assail Himiko’s fingertips begins to fade away.

The contrast between the heat of her hand and the sting of the snow lends a dreamy quality to the landscape. This feeling is familiar, enveloping her in a warmth that seeps down deep into her soul. Where has she felt this before? She closes her eyes and tries to recall, but her mind conjures nothing.

“Let’s switch now. My other hand is still cold,” Himiko says. They switch places, and she slides her right hand into Toujou’s left.

Her cheeks are rosy, she imagines, and she’s sweating under the weight of her scarf. They turn around the block, devoid of signs of life, and the school’s imposing bell tower looms in the distance.

They reach campus, and when they come to the awning of the dormitory, Toujou looks at her, a question in her eyes.

“Are your hands sufficiently warm?”

“Mm. Just a little longer, ‘kay?”

“As you wish. I am in no rush at the moment.”

Toujou smiles and continues holding her hand as they watch the snow fall. It’s slowed down significantly, stirring the dreamy feeling Himiko had before.

It would be a shame if she forgot to practice her heat spells and had to resort to this for the rest of the winter.

A terrible shame indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“i always thought you were weird for carrying an umbrella in the snow, but now it’s snowing *really* hard and we’re going the same way”_


	4. an ode to eaten snowflakes (amamatsu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy late thanksgiving to my fellow americans! also the straights have gotten to me haha, this one gets a little spicy but not too much

“Ah, they really need to shovel this walkway before someone slips!”

Kaede gathers her bearings and seeks purchase on Shuuichi’s shoulder. He places his hand over hers until she’s steadied herself.

“I’m surprised they haven’t already done it. It _is_ still snowing, though,” he says, brows creasing in contemplation.

They’re ambling across campus after holing themselves up in the main building’s common room and making remarkably little progress on their professional development project. The bell tower chimes above them, inaugurating the five o’clock hour. The sky is already growing dark, shifting from a gradient of light blue and white to a deep sapphire streaked with wisps of clouds.

“I’m gonna head to the store and get some dinner. I haven’t eaten all day and I’m paying for it now.” She inhales deeply and sighs, dramatic enough to hopefully get the point across. “You’re going back to the dorms, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later, Akamatsu-san,” he says with a smile. She waves as he walks through the snow toward the center of campus past the bell tower.

She takes in the fresh sheet of snow on the ground, unmarred by anything except Shuuichi’s footsteps, and she is possessed by an idea.

Kaede smirks, suddenly seized by juvenile mischief. She bends over and gathers snow in her knit purple gloves, shaping it into a sphere. She waits until Shuuichi just begins to pass the corner of the bell tower. He pauses — it’s her time to strike.

She leans backward and throws the snowball just in time to miss Shuuichi’s head and to strike someone else entirely — a face she hasn’t seen in quite some time.

“Amami-kun! You’re back! Oh my God, I totally just hit you! When did you get back? Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” she cries as she clutches her face between her gloves in mortification.

Snow tumbles off his face and deep green windbreaker. His surprise gives way to amusement and he chuckles as he trudges through the snow toward her.

“No problem. That was intended for Saihara, right?”

She pouts, wringing her gloved hands. “Maybe.”

“Come on, Akamatsu-san, you’ve gotta own it. Oh, by the way, I like your coat.” He gestures to her mauve peacoat. “You’re really put together today, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you noticed!” She instinctively looks down at herself to inspect her appearance. “I thought these tights were really cu — ”

That thought is swiftly cut short by the sensation of snow exploding all over her face. Caught off guard, she falls backward onto the ground.

“Sorry, Akamatsu-san,” Amami pants, “but you weren’t right to trust me.”

Scandalized, Kaede blinks before scrambling to her feet (not before slipping unceremoniously) and pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

“You know what this means, Amami-kun.”

“Well, of course. It’s war now.”

She dives downward to avoid his next throw, scooping snow between her hands and pelting it at his knees. He makes no effort to dodge and is instead satisfied with forming multiple snowballs at a time and throwing them in rapid succession. She manages to dodge most of them at the expense of actually being able to execute any offensive measures.

“Okay, okay, I think I’m done,” she concedes, panting. She approaches him until they’re standing a mere inch or two apart.

“Yeah, I think I’m kinda done too. Wanna head back in?”

“Sounds good to me. Just hold on a second,” she says, and while he nods and turns away, catching his breath, she bends over.

“You ready?” he asks earnestly when she rises and faces him.

“Yeah. But first...surprise!” she shouts as she reaches up and dumps the pile of snow on his head.

“That was _so_ cheap,” he laments, shaking the remaining snow from his hair.

“So you’ll admit that I’m the winner now, right?”

“You’ve got it all wrong if you think I’m gonna give up so easy. I’m gonna get you twice as hard for tricking me.”

They continue the back-and-forth of throwing and dodging, occasionally employing the dirty tactic (“That was so unfair, Amami-kun!” she whines after being tripped). She nearly splits her skull open after colliding with a fence bar and he nearly breaks his ankle after tripping over his own feet, but neither of them surrender.

Her stamina drains at an accelerating rate until she can barely lift her arm to pelt another snowball, and he’s similarly spent judging by his labored expression. Still, he manages to get another one in, and that’s enough to make her lose her balance. She falls onto her back into the snow and dissolves into giggles, exhausted.

He laughs and drags his feet through the snow to lay down next to her.

“I’m really happy you’re back, Amami-kun,” she says with a contented sigh.

“Well, it won’t be for long, but I’m glad to be back.”

“Did you meet any pretty girls this time?”

“I always meet lots of pretty girls. But being pretty isn’t really something special, if you ask me,” he muses.

She sighs. “Gosh, you’re so cool. What am I supposed to say to that?”

He laughs nervously and scratches his cheek. “That’s not what I was going for, but it sort of sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

They lie there in amiable silence as snowflakes continue to drift down from the sky, reflecting in the dim glow of the streetlight by the campus gate.

“Did you see that thing I sent you last week? I thought of you as soon as I saw it,” Kaede says suddenly.

“Of course. You’re the only one who messages me while I’m out there trotting the globe. Everyone else just waits to catch up with me when I get back.” If she didn’t know him any better than she does, she would miss the rueful note to his easygoing grin.

“Really? I mean, what am I supposed to do? I can’t wait a whole month just to talk to you!”

That blindsides him if his sheepish expression is any indication. She swallows thickly and changes the subject.

“Oh, hey! That reminds me! There’s this video I wanted to show you,” she says. She produces her phone from her pocket and leans in closer to him until her cheek is touching his shoulder. The light scent of his cologne, fresh and citrusy, drifts upward, intoxicating her.

They lie by the front gate like that in the orange glow of the streetlight, laughing at videos and one another’s wry remarks. The bitter cold recedes into the background, supplanted by a profound warmth that emanates from her core outward. Eventually, his smile fades and he appears lost in thought. She replaces her phone in her coat pocket and looks up at his face fully.

“What’s wrong, Amami-kun? It looks like something’s bothering you.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing, really.” He purses his lips. “Well...I’m just thinking about how much I enjoy this.”

“What? Then why do you look so sad?” Her eyebrows knit together in concern.

He hesitates, briefly turning away from her, before thinking better of it and looking back toward her.

“I guess I wish we could do this all the time,” he admits.

Oh. Incredulous, she forgets herself for a moment, staring at him with a gaping mouth.

“W-Wait! But you still need to look for your sister, don’t you? You can’t stop for my sake,” Kaede protests. She turns her gaze away, downcast. “And it’s not like I can join you, either.”

“I know. I shouldn’t be so selfish, but...” 

“But?”

She hates that she’s pressing him like this with the vain hope of uncovering a truth that might not even exist. Amami is growing aggravated — he frowns and folds his arms across his chest.

“I’m sorry...that’s really none of my business,” she mutters.

“No, it’s not your fault, Akamatsu-san. I’m just thinking.”

Her insight tells her that the best course of action at this moment would be to keep her mouth shut. She watches him expectantly.

His agitated expression begins to ease into something far more fond and sentimental.

“When I’m out there, it’s easy to get discouraged. Sometimes I’ll go to sleep and wonder why I’m even bothering. But...” He smiles shyly, looking at her from underneath his eyelashes. “I’ll read the things you send me, and it’s like I can find it in me to get up and keep trying the next day. It feels like you’re always with me somehow.”

Part of her wants to cry and she could not, for the life of her, articulate why.

“I’m glad I can do that for you. Talking to you makes me feel much better too, even if you’re far away.”

She finds herself leaning further into his shoulder. Her heart is beating with wild abandon and her face is hot, far too hot for this kind of weather.

“Akamatsu-san,” he whispers, “you know what I’m trying to say, right?”

Her heart has grown impatient and soars in her chest as a pleasantly nauseous feeling threatens to overtake her.

“Maybe you should try showing me,” Kaede urges.

He considers her with an inscrutable expression and she tenses. He withdraws from her so that she isn’t leaning on his shoulder anymore before leaning towards her again.

Amami cranes his neck and presses his lips to hers; her fear melts and dissipates like snow in the sun. She reciprocates, sliding her lips along his, placing a gloved hand on the back of his head and pulling him closer. He takes that as an invitation to unbridle his enthusiasm, rolling over to fully straddle her and flicking his tongue playfully against her lips. The sharp orange scent of his cologne accentuates the sensuality of it all, and Kaede finds herself deepening the kiss, her hands roaming up and down the expanse of his back at regular intervals. He surreptitiously removes his gloves, setting them aside without breaking away, and cups her face in both hands.

She might have been here for five minutes, five months, five years — all options seem likely as the constraints of time yield to this moment.

Amami experimentally grazes his teeth against her lip, sending an impulse of pain and pleasure hopping along her nerve. Kaede moans and reciprocates; he sighs shakily and his hands slide down toward her chest.

Their pace slows steadily until she feels him beginning to pull away. It’s finally time.

With her free hand, she shoves a handful of snow down the back of his coat. As though he were expecting that from the outset, he laughs, cheeks still thoroughly flushed from the cold and the kiss.

“I deserved that, didn’t I?”

“Without a doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“i meant for that snowball to hit my friend but you came around the corner at the last second and now we’re having a snowball fight”_


	5. my only wish this year (oumasai)

The weekend before their winter break begins, Shuuichi Saihara wakes up and makes the unfortunate mistake of looking outside his window. A sharp rap on his door follows soon after.

“Saihara-kun? Are you okay?” He’s greeted by the sight of Kaede’s concerned face when he opens his door. “I heard you yelling, so...”

“Well, maybe you should see for yourself...”

He ushers Kaede into his room and leads her over to the window, where a large message has been inscribed in the blanket of snow:

**SAIHARA**

**IT’S TIME**

Kaede makes roughly the same sound Shuuichi did when he first saw it: an unholy startled cry. She turns to him, hand splayed on her chest and eyes wide with worry.

“What is this — ”

A knock at his door interrupts her. This is absolutely not what Shuuichi wants to deal with in this moment, but he squares his shoulders and nevertheless opens the door, revealing an alarmed and dangerously cantankerous Momota.

“What the hell is going on? First I heard you, then I heard Akamatsu. You guys have any idea what time it is?”

“S-Sorry. Don’t worry about it, Momota-kun,” Shuuichi assures, hoping his smile is as cordial as he wants it to be.

“Bullshit. You guys don’t yell loud enough for me to hear unless it’s somethin’ serious,” he counters.

“It’s really not a big deal — ”

By the time he can get a full sentence in, Momota has already pushed past Shuuichi and stridden over to the window, where he covers his mouth thoughtfully as he analyzes the sight before him.

“The fuck?” Momota laughs humorlessly. “Who would do this?”

“Could this be someone who wants revenge from one of your last cases?” Kaede wrings her hands and frowns.

“I don’t think so. You need your school ID to get into the courtyard, remember?” Momota says. “Unless they go here or work here, they’d be shit outta luck.”

An epiphany simultaneously hops along a synapse in their minds.

“Wait...” Shuuichi starts.

“Ouma-kun did this, didn’t he,” Kaede says flatly. It isn’t a question.

“Definitely,” he concurs.

“No question.” Momota rolls his eyes.

“I’m going back to bed, Saihara-kun,” Kaede mumbles, shuffling her feet out of his room.

“Yeah, man. You’re on your own for this one.” Momota scratches his neck and follows her.

“Ah — ”

Momota closes Shuuichi’s door behind him, leaving him to balk in the middle of his room. He attempts to process the last fifteen minutes of his life to remarkably little avail.

Okay. Deep breath. First, he needs to get dressed. Then, he needs to call Ouma and possibly ask around if that doesn’t work. He hurriedly changes out of his pajamas and grabs his phone off of his nightstand and dials Ouma’s number. It rings once, twice, thrice, five times.

_“Hello. If you’ve dialed this number, it’s already too late. Leave a message at your own risk...nishishi!”_

The fact that it goes to Ouma’s voicemail confirms that it’s an exercise in futility, but it also serves to plant a seed of anxiety in Shuuichi’s chest. What if something has really happened to him?

Shuuichi saunters around Hope’s Peak, and before he can be the one to ask anyone if they’ve seen Ouma, _they_ stop _him_.

“Saihara-kun, I saw that message in the courtyard! What was that?” Sayaka Maizono asks with a worried frown outside the dining hall.

“I think it was one of Ouma-kun’s...pranks, I guess you could call it. Speaking of which, have you seen him today, Maizono-san?”

Maizono casts her eyes sadly toward the floor. “I’m sorry. I haven’t, but I hope you find him soon. Whatever he had to tell you must’ve been really important!”

He promptly makes his way toward the second floor of the main building, where Oogami and Asahina are making idle chit-chat outside of the pool area.

“Hey, Saihara! Is someone on your tail? That message in the courtyard was super creepy!” Asahina shouts, waving him down.

He stops and approaches them, trying not to betray his concern.

“Well, I actually think Ouma-kun was the one who did it. Did either of you see him today?”

Asahina presses her finger to her chin in thought before shaking her head. “Nope. Don’t think I did. How about you, Sakura-chan?”

Oogami closes her eyes pensively. “I saw him leave the school grounds when I was on my way to begin my morning workout. I have not seen him since then.”

Well, at least he left the school grounds of his own accord, as opposed to being toted away by some shady figure. Shuuichi nods.

“I see. Thank you,” he tells them.

“Sure thing! Remember, if Ouma’s trying to pull some funny business on you, you can come to us and we’ll make him cry!” Asahina pumps her fists.

Shuuichi laughs nervously and absconds from the area. He continues asking around to little avail — Ouma’s escape act truly went undetected by nearly everyone aside from Oogami and Owari, and they only witnessed the physical act of him leaving the school.

As the sun begins to set on Hope’s Peak, Shuuichi’s heart races faster and faster with thoughts of worst case scenarios and morbid images. Sure, Ouma left of his own volition, but that doesn’t mean any number of things couldn’t have happened to him. Shuuichi knows that better than anyone else. He leans against the bell tower, exhaustion exacerbating the effect of gravity on his muscles. Closing his eyes in a brief moment of rest, he can almost hear Ouma’s voice.

Actually, he _can_ hear Ouma’s voice.

“Hey, hey, look who it is! Saihara-chaaan!”

Shuuichi’s eyes fly open to see Ouma walking through the school’s front gate and toward him, a sly grin lighting up his features. A sense of relief floods him; he sighs, letting the relief flow out of him before it’s replaced by irritation.

“I’ve been looking for you all day! I was starting to think something actually happened to you,” he chides.

“Looking for _me_? Well, I’ve been looking for _you_! You said we’d go to the light show and today’s the last day for it!” He points an accusatory finger at him and scowls. “Were you lying, Saihara-chan? Because you know how much I hate that.”

“I wasn’t! And what was that...thing in the snow all about?” Shuuichi asks with restrained irritation.

“Weeell, you didn’t answer my text yesterday about it and it’s tonight, so what would you rather I have done?”

“...You could’ve knocked on my door or texted me again.”

“Ah, but if you didn’t answer your phone the first time, why should I believe you’d answer it the second? And I _guess_ I could’ve done that, but you were sleeping by the time I got back and I didn’t want to wake you up,” he says, shrugging noncommittally. “But hey, it got your attention, so it’s all fine!”

“Wait, then why did your phone go straight to voicemail when I called?”

Ouma shrugs again. “I forgot to charge it before I left today.”

Shuuichi can feel the tension in his temples increase. “Ouma-kun, where did you even — ”

“The longer we stand here and talk about it, the later we’ll be!”

Ouma wraps his hand around Shuuichi’s and leads him out of the gate without another word.

With a vague, unyielding sense of dread, Shuuichi follows him to the station where they board a train bound for Roppongi. People bump and brush against one another — apparently, several other people had the same idea to go on the last day. Several dozen, as a matter of fact. The oxygen around them has been recycled countless times and Shuuichi finds himself growing lightheaded. Ouma’s insistence on leaning his head against Shuuichi’s shoulder does not aid that sensation.

They reach their destination and disembark in Roppongi, making their way to Keyakizaka Street along with the majority of the other passengers. When they finally turn the block and face the avenue, the sheer sight of it all arrests Shuuichi’s breath in his lungs. Icy blue lights adorn every tree, dyeing the whole street and its adjacent buildings a brilliant sapphire color. The jet black night sky complements the cool lights on earth. Couples, bundled up in thick coats and scarves, hold hands as they stroll down the cobblestone sidewalk. His breath comes out in visible clouds in the thin, illuminated winter air.

It’s as though someone strung the stars together and unraveled them from the heavens.

The lights render him speechless until he registers Ouma snickering beside him, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Saihara-chan, wanna make a bet?”

No. No, he does not. The likelihood of this being an actual equitable bet is so low as to be completely insignificant. Nonetheless, his choice in the matter is limited.

“What is it?” he asks with a sigh.

“At five minutes to eleven, two parts of this road will turn from blue and white to yellow and red,” he explains. A smirk slowly spreads across his face. “Those places are a secret! But if we run into one of them while it happens...you have to kiss me!”

Oh, excellent. Ouma has managed to surprise him once again with a proposition even more preposterous than he expected. Shuuichi sputters and averts his gaze. “O-Ouma-kun!”

“What? Is someone scared of losing?” His eyes glisten with mischief.

“No, that’s not it — !”

“Oh. I get it. Saihara-chan would rather die than do that, wouldn’t he?” he whines. Ouma’s lips form into a pout as his shoulders droop in mock dejection.

“That’s not it either!” If his face gets any hotter, he might just pass out. “We’ve just...I’ve just never done anything like that before.”

“There’s a first time for everything!” Ouma chirps. He grabs Shuuichi’s hand and interdigitates their gloved fingers. “But we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

Shuuichi wants to tell him that that is absolutely not how that saying goes, but before he’s given the chance, Ouma starts walking along the block, gripping Shuuichi’s hand firmly.

They alternate between silence and small talk. Every time Shuuichi attempts to ask Ouma where in the world he went today, he changes the subject. By the time they’re almost at the end of the road, Shuuichi is close to tears from sheer frustration.

Before he can express that frustration, the lights around them dim for a moment before restoring to their former brilliance. This time, however, they shine vermilion and gold, immersing them in warm light.

“Well, well, well! Look what we have here!” Ouma yells, sweeping his arm across the scene. He stops mid-stride and gazes up at Shuuichi with profound expectation. 

Shuuichi starts sweating despite the cold. “I-I don’t know if I — ”

“We made that bet, so I expect you to follow through,” Ouma says quietly and with such deadly severity that Shuuichi would be terrified in any other situation.

“But does it have to be here? We’re in public...”

“Yes, here. Look, there aren’t that many people around.”

And he’s right. The light show is about to end, and most people have departed and made their way home. They’re the only people on this stretch of road.

Shuuichi swallows. “Okay.”

Ouma grins and slowly closes his eyes, waiting for Shuuichi to do the honors.

Shuuichi places both of his shaking hands on Ouma’s shoulders. If he’s being honest with himself, this is something he’s desired for some time now. The mere concept seemed so abstract, though, that he pushed it to the back of his mind. But this is real; inevitable, even.

His heart ricochets in his chest, his stomach flips itself upside down — the lightheadedness from before has returned. He leans in, slowly, slowly, until he’s kissing Ouma, the soft sensation of his lips sending a chill down his spine and across his skin. The frigid air around them can’t compare to this feeling.

Ouma reciprocates with wild abandon, moving his lips against Shuuichi’s with precision and passion. It’s a little amateurish on both of their parts, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s grateful that he’s not the only inexperienced one in this equation.

Shuuichi doesn’t realize that his whole body is trembling until he (reluctantly) pulls away.

“Wow,” Ouma murmurs. He might be imagining it, but he thinks he hears genuine wonderment for a fleeting moment.

Shuuichi can’t bring himself to say anything. He clears his throat and scratches his impossibly warm cheek.

“I didn’t think you had that in you, Saihara-chan! Of course, I expected you to do your best, since it’s me after all.”

His flushed face betrays his true feelings beneath the veneer of nonchalance, and although Shuuichi resists the urge to roll his eyes, he still finds himself smiling. “I have a question. Did you know where it would happen all along?”

Ouma looks up at him with something between coyness and challenge.

“Detectives shouldn’t ask questions with such obvious answers!”

Shuuichi laughs despite himself. “Then can I ask a question with a non-obvious answer?”

Ouma tilts his head to the side, inviting the question with his inquisitive gaze.

“Do you...do you really like me, Ouma-kun? It’s not just a farce?”

All the humor disappears from his face, and for a moment, he worries that he’s actually upset. After another moment, though, a smile slowly spreads across his lips which promptly disabuses Shuuichi of that notion.

“If you think that doesn’t have an obvious answer, you’re an even worse detective than I thought!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“when i wake up and look out the window, there’s a message for me in the front yard”_


	6. a sentimental feeling (kaemaki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the much anticipated sequel to the saimota cookie disaster

“Hmm. Well, if you want to do something nice for Akamatsu-san, why don’t you make something for her?”

Shirogane takes a sip of her tea, eyebrows raised in amusement at Maki’s predicament. The dining hall is about to close in fifteen minutes and they’re the last ones here, huddled in the corner away from the double door entrance.

Maki has swallowed down the urge to bolt towards it the entire time she’s been here.

“Make something...like what?”

“You could knit something, or draw, or even bake!” Shirogane says with a smile — a smile that Maki has always interpreted as duplicitous, although she has nothing to verify that hunch.

More to the point, she could gag at the thought of doing anything so profoundly embarrassing.

“Isn’t there anything else that isn’t...that?” she asks begrudgingly as she runs her hands through a pigtail.

Shirogane shrugs and adjusts her glasses. “I can’t really think of anything short of asking her out on a date.”

The mere idea of that is enough to drain the color from Maki’s face entirely. Her prior options seem like far better prospects.

“I see.”

* * *

This is so stupid, so utterly asinine, that Maki might just drop dead any moment now.

She isn’t sure when her contempt for Kaede transformed into something vaguely resembling intrigue.

Maybe it was the day Kaede sat with her at lunch despite her protests and ate her food in amiable silence the entire time. Maybe it was the day she volunteered to be Maki’s partner when everyone else pointedly avoided her (of course, she protested that too, contending that she would rather work alone). Maybe it was the day that Kaede asked her — and her alone — to listen to a piece she had been practicing to hear what she thought of it.

Whatever day it was, the intrigue took root and blossomed in Maki’s mind like deadly nightshade, and now its poison reaches its apex when she lie in bed while mellifluous piano notes play on repeat in her head.

Maki has read the instructions on the package three times now without actually retaining anything they’ve said.

Purging all thoughts that could be even vaguely construed as sentimental out of her head, Maki gets to work on breaking apart the dough and dutifully separating it onto the baking sheet. She recalls Momota’s mishap from a couple weeks ago and pales, taking extra care to avoid burning the dormitory down if she can help it.

When the fruits of her labor are ready for the reaping, she allows them to cool before placing them into a plastic bag. There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? If Momota couldn’t manage this much, she truly cannot comprehend how he has survived this long without accidentally offing himself in some inane way.

Maki opens her window, letting the winter chill drift into her room in waves, and tries to ignore the fluttering in her stomach as she goes to sleep.

* * *

Maki is the first one to leave class, as usual. This time she lingers by the doors and waits for her target to emerge. When she does, Maki calls out to her.

“Akamatsu.”

Kaede turns around and searches for the source of the voice, fingers wrapped around the white straps of her backpack. Her eyebrows shoot up in recognition when she spots Maki.

“Hi, Harukawa-san,” she chirps as she walks over to her. Maki can see some of their classmates staring at them with skepticism, as though the sight of them together is simply too unbelievable for their eyes to process. Her lip twitches.

“I,” she begins. She inhales deeply. “Th-Thank you for your help on that chemistry lab. I...”

Kaede tilts her head to the side, waiting for Maki to finish with her ever-present smile and amethystine eyes.

She can’t take this anymore. She thrusts the bag of baked goods before Kaede and looks away. The heat in her face feels as though it’s radiating to her brain, causing her head to feel simultaneously light as a feather and heavy as lead.

“I made you these,” she grumbles. It comes out as one jumbled utterance, and Kaede’s confusion in Maki’s periphery tells her that she didn’t quite parse it.

“Huh? You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a well-intentioned statement, but only serves to infuriate Maki even further.

“Just take them before I _really_ regret it,” she mutters.

There’s a pause, a beat, before Kaede gingerly plucks the plastic bag from Maki’s hand.

“Thank you, Harukawa-san,” she says quietly. The gratitude in her voice is palpable, but she spares Maki the embarrassment of going into any further detail than that. “Do you want to walk back to the dorms together?”

Well. She’s going in that direction anyway, so she doesn’t have an excuse. To say that she wouldn’t be interested would not only be a lie, but a direct contradiction of her behavior in the past five minutes.

“...Sure. Let’s go.”

They make their way down the hallway and out onto the snow-blanketed campus as Kaede makes occasional small talk. She finally opens the bag and pops a cookie into her mouth.

“Oh! These are really good, Harukawa-san!” Kaede says before duly shoving the rest of the confection in her mouth.

“A-Are they? Thanks, I guess.” Maki shoves her hands in the pockets of her red winter coat and stares at the ground.

They take their time getting back the dorms. Kaede stops in her tracks to stretch out her free palm to feel the snow drifting down from the clouds above; she stops to gaze at the icicles on campus buildings that glisten in the dying sunlight. This is the point where Maki should feel annoyed, and she tries her best to force herself to just be irritated, but she simply can’t. That fact distresses her more than anything else that has occurred today.

They finally enter the dorm building and wait for an elevator in the lobby.

“Jeez. Did I get bit by a bug?”

Maki turns to look at her and, much to her horror, Kaede looks like death. She’s sweating profusely and itching at her arms with the desperation of a wild animal. Maki swallows hard and takes a few steps toward her.

“Akamatsu. Take off your coat and roll up your sleeves,” she commands.

Normally, Kaede would protest, but she instead acquiesces to Maki’s demand and discards her coat by the wall and rolls up her uniform sleeves. The sight prompts Maki’s eyes to widen — her arms are wholly pink and ridged with bumps.

“We have to go to the hospital,” she says. She snatches Kaede’s coat from the floor and grabs her hand, leading her promptly out of the dorms and onto campus.

“Harukawa-san, it’s fine! I’m sure it’s nothing — ”

“ _Stop_.”

Maki hands Kaede her coat, shooting her a glance that she truly hopes says _put this on_. Once again, Kaede does so.

“Honestly, a bug probably bit me and it’ll go away soon,” she pleads.

“You don’t know that for sure. It would be a real pain if you died on me,” she says. Kaede doesn’t realize that Maki’s position would make such an outcome at least five times worse than it would otherwise be, but she can’t fault her for that.

Kaede is quiet as Maki leads her down the roads toward the local hospital. The latter’s fight or flight instinct has managed to extinguish all humiliation out of her mind for the moment, but she already knows it’s going to return with a vengeance later. A more primal part of Maki’s brain frets that her effort of ambassadorship will, in fact, drive Kaede away forever, but that is absolutely not important right now and she wishes she could just lobotomize herself for being so stupid —

“Hello? How can we help you today?” the perky receptionist in the emergency room says, interrupting Maki’s downward spiral.

“My friend is having a reaction to...something,” Maki explains before Kaede can get a word in.

“Oh, goodness. We’ll take her back right away after we get her information. Ma’am, if you could just tell us your name...” the receptionist says, diverting her attention toward Kaede.

Maki attempts to follow Kaede back when she’s called forward, but the nurse tells her with strained politeness that she’ll have to wait outside and that they’ll take good care of her friend, don’t worry.

She balls her hands up into fists and chews her lip.

She doesn’t have much of a choice; she begins the short journey back to the dorms and attempts to process everything that has occurred today. Dazed, Maki returns to campus, rides the elevator of their dorm building, and throws herself onto her bed as soon as she enters her room.

Why did she even think this could have ever been a good idea in any permutation of reality? Why couldn’t she just continue to exist without doing something so poorly thought out? This is why having feelings of any kind are a mistake. She’ll have to see to it that such a terrible phenomenon doesn’t happen again.

Her phone buzzes. She digs it out of her pocket and immediately sits up when she sees that it’s from Kaede.

_hi harukawa-san! i just wanted to let you know im ok, i just have a vanilla allergy! how random is that www_

“A vanilla allergy,” Maki repeats to herself.

She groans and plants her face firmly into her pillow.

* * *

Maki looks up and sees Kaede walking toward her spot. She scowls and shrinks back; she is decidedly not looking forward to the conversation that’s about to transpire.

“Do you really want to sit here? I almost killed you,” she deadpans.

Kaede sits next to her instead of across from her like she typically does when she chooses to grace Maki with her presence.

“Oh, come on, Harukawa-san. It wasn’t like you did it on purpose!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she protests, but Kaede is very clearly not listening.

Kaede nibbles her rice in comfortable silence and Maki reluctantly does the same. A few minutes before their lunch period is over, Kaede turns to her.

“I hope you’re not upset. I’m glad you tried something new,” she assures.

“Shirogane’s the one who gave me the idea anyway. That sort of thing...isn’t my speed.”

“Well, why don’t we try making some together? _Without_ vanilla,” Kaede adds hastily with a wave of her hand.

She’s about to open her mouth to reject the idea, but the sight of Kaede’s expectant — _hopeful_ — expression, with wide eyes and a hint of a smile, is enough to make her reconsider.

“I guess we could try it,” she concedes, concealing a smile of her own.

* * *

“You too, Harumaki? Looks like we both just need to leave the kitchen stuff to other people.” Momota groans and scratches his neck.

“Don’t put us in the same category. No one had to come see if I was about to burn the whole building down,” she counters. She rises to her feet to return her tray to the dishwashers.

“Hey, we both still got something out of it, didn’t we?” Momota leans forward, flashing the same puerile grin he always does. “I got Shuuichi, you got Ka — ”

She shoves a napkin directly in his gaping maw and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“i tried to woo you by baking christmas cookies but i didn’t know you were allergic to vanilla and now i have to take you to the hospital i’m so sorry i ruined your christmas”_


	7. angels waken smiling faces (gontangie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love gonta/angie and there is NOTHING you can do about it
> 
> happy hanukkah to jewish readers!

Winter has mercilessly assailed Hope’s Peak. A thick sheet of snow appeared on the ground overnight; even through his thick layers of clothing, Gonta feels a chill deep in his bones. He faced far worse conditions living in the wild, a fact with which he tries to console himself as he trudges across campus to check on his insects in the zoology lab. Through the gentle snowfall, he sees a figure — Angie, as he discerns — meandering by the main building.

“Good dawning! God says it’s gonna be a beautiful day,” she announces with a heavenly smile.

Upon noticing her minimal clothing, he comes to a conclusion: she’s never been in the snow before.

“Ah, good morning, Angie-san! Forgive Go ta, but you’ll have to wear more than that if you don’t want to catch a cold,” he chides.

“Oh, oh! Angie noticed it felt colder today, but it’s okay! God’s like a good electric blanket — He’ll keep her warm!” She clasps her hands together and closes her eyes in profound piety.

It’s only a short walk to the zoology lab, but Angie appears to be waiting for their first class to start in a half hour. He frowns and mulls over his options before coming to a decision.

“A gentleman must always be ready to give the coat off his back,” he quips with a sage nod. He shrugs off the thick faux leather coat and drapes it around Angie’s shoulders. “Make sure you buy a new coat soon! It would be terrible if Angie-san got sick.”

Gonta can’t decipher her expression as she slides her arms into the coat sleeves and zips it up. His heart beats rapidly in his chest and his face feels hot. Maybe _he’s_ the one getting sick, he thinks with a frown.

“Nyaha! Thank you, Gonta!” she shouts, waving her arms around in the impossibly large sleeves that cover them. “God will repay you for your kindness.”

“G-Gonta is only doing what a gentleman should.” He tucks his hands under his armpits in an attempt to fend off the cold. “Anyway, Gonta is going to check on his bugs now. Remember to get that coat!”

He swallows thickly and tries not to look back as he heads into the main building.

* * *

Gonta had expected her to wear his coat until she managed to buy her own, but it seems as though that isn’t happening because she wears it every single day and, from the looks of it, plans to keep it that way. She wears it in class, she wears it as she waddles across campus, she even wears it in the toasty dining hall. Her apparent attachment to it makes him wonder if she sleeps in it, too.

That image won’t leave his head no matter how hard he tries to concentrate on other things. He sits one row over and four seats behind her in class and he can’t tear his eyes away from her and the heavy brown coat draped around her shoulders. She taps a pencil against her desk, glancing around the room and whistling under her breath.

He doesn’t immediately rise to his feet when the teacher dismisses them — a fact that fails to escape one classmate’s attention.

“Hey! Hey, big dick!”

He whips his head around to see Iruma standing over his desk, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Your face is red as fuck. You sick, or just thinkin’ about a nice pair of tits?”

Gonta feels the color draining from his face as he puts his hands up in shock. “G-Gonta would never! A gentleman doesn’t do things like that! He isn’t feeling sick either, though...”

Iruma tracks his gaze toward the door. Her eyebrows shoot up in shock when she lands on Angie. She turns back to him, incredulous, and slams her hand on his desk. He jumps a bit in his seat at the sudden sound.

“Oh my God! You’ve totally got it bad for that nutjob!”

Iruma’s face twists in amusement and she leans forward, ostensibly scrutinizing Gonta’s expression.

“I was wonderin’ why that weirdo was wearing a dude’s coat. I can’t believe this!” She guffaws and plants her hands on her hips. “Nah, you know what? I can. Because you both are the weirdest people in our damn class, and that’s saying somethin’.”

“I-Iruma-san, it’s actually not — ” he begins, putting his hands up in protest. However, he stops himself and mulls it over for a moment. It’s paramount that he tells the truth, as it would be a discredit to his decorum if he were to lie. His feelings for Angie are nebulous, fluttering gently within him like a monarch — constantly drifting, evading capture. Can he, in good conscience, tell Iruma that she’s interpreting this situation incorrectly?

To her credit, Iruma appears to have a decent grasp of the situation and her expression softens.

“Don’t worry, the great Miu Iruma’s not gonna spill your damn secret. But you gotta promise me one thing,” she says.

He doesn’t relish the prospect of agreeing to whatever Iruma has in mind, but he isn’t about to oppose her when he’s in such a compromising position. “Of course, Iruma-san! Gonta will keep your promise.”

“Fuckin’ tell the little nun, okay? It’s gonna make me real sick if you just keep making eyes at her like a lost puppy while we’re in class,” she grumbles, curling her upper lip.

Gonta is certain that he looks as deathly white as the snow outside.

“G-Gonta doesn’t know if he can keep that promise! If Angie-san...if she...” He trails off, unable to verbalize the unthinkable possibilities that could occur in such a situation. Briefly, he wonders if Iruma has ever confessed to anyone before.

“Great! So you’ll tell her to meet you outside after our last class tomorrow,” she declares cheerfully as she makes to leave. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya, big dick!”

But before she leaves, she turns around and analyzes him. She gnaws her lip and looks away.

“What do you see in her, anyway? That chick doesn’t give a shit about anything other than her little loony god.”

“That’s not true!” he snaps. He immediately shrinks back at her stunned expression. “Gonta apologizes, Iruma-san! That wasn’t very gentlemanly of him...but Angie-san is a good person and she cares about all of us in her own way! Saihara-kun told Gonta that he thinks Angie might be lonely, and Gonta thinks the same thing. And...”

“And?”

“And one morning, Gonta saw Angie-san praying in the courtyard. She was praying for us, and for all the plants and animals, even the bugs! She didn’t know Gonta was there, but he heard everything.” He holds his face in his hands as the heat creeps back up. “Ever since then, Gonta has thought about Angie’s kindness every day!”

Iruma looks extremely uneasy, and he wonders if he said something wrong. She simply shakes her head and drops her shoulders.

“Then you better tell that nutjob, got it?”

Gonta nods and stands abruptly from his seat. It’s her turn to jump a bit.

“Gonta understands! He’ll tell Angie-san. Thank you, Iruma-san! You’re a really good friend!”

She turns around and leaves without another word.

* * *

“Good night-ing! You wanted to see Angie, right?” she greets. She waves, but it comes across as more of a halfhearted flapping of the bulky coat sleeve.

She jogs over to the side of their dormitory building, where he currently stands and twiddles his thumbs. This area of campus is away from the prying eyes of any curious passersby. The crunch of snow beneath her feet echoes in the still winter air.

He clears his throat and looks anywhere except for her face.

“R-Right! Gonta asked Angie-san to come here because...”

He trails off, unable to control his shaking voice. He promised Iruma that he would go through with this, but now that the prospect of it is staring at him with big blue eyes, he wants nothing more than to run back into the school and lock himself inside the zoology lab.

She holds up a hand — or, more accurately, a sleeve.

“Ah, ah! Quiet! God has already told Angie what you’ve called her here for!”

His heart sinks into his stomach, and his stomach flips upside down, and his internal organs feel as though they’re rearranging themselves, and oh goodness why did he ever agree to this, he might just —

“You want to...play!”

Ah.

“Play? N-No, Gonta — ”

Before he can protest, Angie lobs a perfectly round snowball right into his chest.

“Haha! Angie got the first shot!” she shouts proudly.

He feels profoundly conflicted. It isn’t gentlemanly at all to throw anything at a girl, or anyone else for that matter. But this is something that Angie clearly wants, and he wants to make her happy. But he wants to be a gentleman, too. Yet, he can’t be a gentleman and make her happy at the same time. Which one does he choose? It’s giving him a headache. In fact, he sort of just wants to lie against the side of the dormitory building and forget about all of this.

Before he can fully react, she launches herself at him, spearing him in the chest. He cries out, loses his balance, slips on the snow, and falls to the ground on his back. She stays on top of him and waves her arms around, victorious.

“It wasn’t hard, but it looks like Angie won. She didn’t even need God’s help!”

She stares at him. He stares at her. She beams and he swallows.

She sprawls herself out against his chest and rests her head against his sternum where his heart beats. She closes her eyes and sighs, contented. He only wishes he could feel so relaxed — his heart feels like it might explode any moment now. Can hearts actually explode from being nervous? He doesn’t enjoy that thought.

“Angie can see Gonta’s heart, you know. It’s crystal clear like a fresh spring!”

His breath hitches in his throat. “A-Angie-san...”

She rubs her cheek against him and clings to his coat. Her warm breath permeates the thick fabric of his myriad layers.

“Angie can hear Gonta’s heart, too. It’s a quick but steady beat...”

A part of him wants to shove Angie off because he just might vomit from anxiety. If he cuts it short here, he can spare himself the embarrassment. Seeing how satisfied she is in this moment, however, keeps him glued to his spot. He ignores his dry mouth and rasps a few words.

“Do you...do you — ”

“Does Angie like you? Yes, Angie does! Nyaha, God told her what Gonta was gonna ask before he even asked it!”

“Angie-san...you really like Gonta?”

She doesn’t verbally answer his question. She stays anchored to his chest. After several silent minutes, she looks directly at him.

“Yes!”

She rolls off of him and they both rise to their feet, brushing the snow off of themselves. She looks up into his narrow red eyes; he, into her wide blue ones. A perfect contrast.

“Someone as kind as you is exactly what God wants for Angie. But one time she told God to take an extra long nap so she could figure out on her own if she liked you too,” she explains. “And do you remember the day you saved that hurt bunny? She saw it happen, and she told God He could wake up because she knew then!”

Her story is slightly lost on him, but he gathers that it’s something similar to what he told Iruma; just as he remembers that day in the courtyard, she remembers that day in the gardens.

He opens his mouth to speak, but she knows what he’s going to say before he even begins to utter it.

“Yes, yes! Angie and Gonta will be together!” Angie wraps her arms around him. “Just one thing, though!”

With a soaring heart, he takes her dainty hand into his. “Gonta will do anything for Angie. Just tell him what it is!”

“God told Angie that she can keep Gonta’s coat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“we were playing in the snow and you suddenly tackled me to the ground and now we’re just...staring...at each other...”_


End file.
